


What Was Once Mine

by keds



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Smut, F/M, MINOR DESCRIPTIONS OF VIOLENCE, They're not cousins, World War II vibes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-11 18:09:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19932310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keds/pseuds/keds
Summary: Stannis Baratheon successfully invades King's Landing, ending the Lannister rule in Westeros since Robert Baratheon's death. Sansa Stark, former Lannister prisoner, now finds herself in a strange position in the new Baratheon court. Jon Snow plays his role as a security guard in the Night's Watch serving Stannis. The new regime attempts to grow roots in Westeros, but faces threats from the North, the East, and from within. When Sansa realizes she is to play a crucial in Stannis's great plan to rule Westeros with an iron fist, she and those around her refuse to be his pawns.





	1. First Sight

The first time Jon saw her, she was bloodied and bruised. She stood on the steps of the old church, head held high, eyes straight ahead. For a second, he thought he could see a tremble in her body, but it was gone when he looked closer. The red-haired girl- no, woman now- with the smeared blood across her lavender dress, a cut above her eye, blood across her arms, smoke lazily creeping up behind her near the sept, still the sounds of gun shots and explosions throughout the city; the entire view struck Jon to his core as he rode up in the car. 

The first Sansa saw him, she was full of fear. She knew now how to mask fear and so she braced her shoulders back and stood up straight, keeping her head held high. She didn’t even move to brush away the blood that slowly creeped down her cheek. The pain didn’t touch her anymore. The car carrying the new leader and some young man loomed closer and closer to where she stood with one of this leader’s soldiers. She was steel and she was ready.


	2. Renaissance - Sansa

Apparently, chaos was normal during a civil war. Despite the ongoing war, I had had a relatively undisturbed sentence in King’s Landing until Lord Stannis arrived with his tanks and infantry. Now though, with Stannis’s man, Ser Davos, guiding me gently by the arm and down the Sept’s steps to meet Stannis face-to-face, I realize that chaos has arrived. 

Stannis steps out of the armored car and stands up, towering over six feet. A young man with dark curls and eyes follows him, a few steps behind. All three men stare at me, Stannis glowers down, the young man looks alarmed, and Ser Davos is giving me a look of pity – I can’t figure out if it’s patronizing or fatherly. I stand still, waiting for the steely-eyed Stannis to say something. His silence is overwhelming, as though I’m the one who is supposed to start talking, but what could he expect me to say? I am the one with blood smeared on my dress and he just sacked the city to which he is now king. Am I to explain to him what he just accomplished?

“Lady Sansa Stark,” Ser Davos finally grunts, “this is the new and rightful king, His Majesty, King Stannis.” I bob into a graceful curtsy, a shallow one for my usual standards, and stand rim rod straight again in front of the man who would now be my new king, my new prison warden. 

“Congratulations, Your Grace,” I finally say, my voice cracking slightly. My throat is bone dry. I haven’t spoken in hours– too much had happened, so much was happening, that I had found myself unable to say anything to anyone since the early hours of the morning. 

“Lady Stark, you’re safe,” Stannis sounds less than excited to see me in one piece, albeit shaken. “Where are the Lannisters?” Stannis asks sharply, his eyebrow raising as I resume my stony stance. 

“Dead, as far as I’m aware. In the Dragonpit. I can’t imagine you’d be here now if they weren’t.”

He ignores my quip. “Why weren’t you with them?”

“Cersei thought it more likely that you would bomb the Sept before the Dragonpit.” 

A brief pause. “She thought wrong.” 

“Why are you covered in blood, Lady Sansa?” Ser Davos speaks up politely. 

I thought about replying, “Why aren’t you?” but I know that now is not the time for it, so I tell him the truth. “I was helping my maid who was wounded during the bombardment of the capital.” 

“Where is she now?” 

“Dead.” 

“And why are you bleeding?” Stannis asks, again sharply. 

“Thanks to the former king, Joffrey,” I spat out and now my hands and arms and legs start to shake uncontrollably. When I say this, rather roughly, Ser Davos and the young man’s eyebrows raise. Because of me or my words, it doesn’t matter, I ignore them and continue to stare into Stannis’s steel eyes. “May I be escorted to my quarters? Or wherever you are keeping me?”

“Davos, escort Lady Sansa to the Queen Alysanne. We will be securing the Red Keep and the rest of the capital.” 

“Yes, Your Grace.” 

I am guided, even more gently now, by Davos into an idling black car. The young man watches me dip into the back seat while Davos sits in the front seat next to the driver. I look ahead as the car jerks backward, and then forward, to return to the depths of the city. 

Just this early morning I had crossed the streets of the city in the pitch black of night, although the street was well lit by the lights on in almost every house along the way. I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep, it appeared. I was found in the godswood by King Joffrey himself just after midnight when he came to take me to the next safe spot in the city. Stannis had been shelling the city gates by then and his ships were starting to send bombs toward the Red Keep from ships out in the harbor. 

“We need to leave,” Joffrey had sneered at me, as though annoyed that he had to be the one to let his fiancée know. “Now.” He found another moment to shove me to my knees when I wasn’t walking fast enough to the car waiting for us outside the keep. Cersei was there with Tommen – oh, Tommen –

I force my thoughts to end there, not wanting to think about the rest of the night and the gruesome morning. The car is hot, and so sweat starts to sting the cut above my eye. It almost encourages the memories from the past week, but I am not ready to visit them and instead just focus on the pain for a moment, grounding myself. Joffrey’s rings always hurt the most, and I find myself grateful he wore them overnight so that I can focus on the stinging pain in my forehead. Funny how those rings will be given to Stannis, and the hand that used to wear them will no longer raise up above me. 

We practically fly through the city, despite all the commotion surrounding us. There are commoners pushing debris away from their sidewalks and houses, toward the street. Looking at us glumly as the car passes by, I realize they couldn’t care less who was their king if they were safe and their homes were intact. Some homes we pass lay crumbled and I look away from the missing windows and smoldering metal of the cars we pass. I can’t close my eyes without seeing image after image of the past twelve hours or so, and other, older memories try to creep up to consciousness as well. Unconsciously, I rub my hands in wide circles over my thighs, feeling the roughness of dried blood under them as my hands sweep the thin lavender silk. We had been caught off guard when the first bombs dropped. As I examine my impractically flowy, loose dress, I feel as though the afternoon I had put it on was years ago, not merely hours before. 

Finally, Davos tells me we’re almost to the pier where the Queen Alysanne will be waiting. We walk along the docks next to the rolling water in the bay and I think of all the times I was permitted to stroll along the wooden boardwalk. It used to fill me with hope – maybe I could escape to Braavos, or Meereen – but now it just fills me with lead. The girl who used to dream of escaping is no closer to freedom than the woman standing here with Ser Davos. 

He shows me into a room under the dark deck, graciously holding the door as I step into a damp, dim space. The bed is bolted down next to a small, round table, and a round window creates weird shadows on the ground from the salty grime it’s accumulated. I can’t tell if it’s meant to be practical or a jail cell. 

“Is there anything you need, Lady Sansa?” Ser Davos offers up a gentle smile. 

My curtness from the morning feels hollow next to his kindness. “Could I have some hot water? And a small towel?” I hope my softer tone makes up for my earlier rudeness. 

“I will see what I can do. Are there any clothes you would like from the Keep?” 

Stannis must expect to parade me around in the next day, once everything was “secure,” or at the very least have me presented to him in the throne room. I think  
back to my closet in the west tower, snuggled in my bright and warm room. “Can I have some of my dresses brought to me? They’re in a closet in my room. In the western tower.” 

“Of course, my lady. I will be back shortly.”

Ser Davos leaves, closing the door heavily behind him. I cringe as the old, heavy door lock turns slowly. It’s a few heartbeats before his footsteps slowly walk away. Strange quiet settles over the room. I haven’t been alone since the Lannister army spotted Stannis’s ships across the bay, three days ago. How so much has changed since then, and how much seems the same as I still am not sure what my position is in this new regime.

I imagine they don’t find me too much a threat if they’re allowing me on the same boat as Stannis’s wife and child – I saw two figures wearing dresses watching us from the deck – but it still wasn’t clear whether I was a prisoner or not. This room feels like a jail cell, and I was just recently engaged to marry the now-dead king. What if one of the Lannisters survived the bombing of the Dragonpit? Would Stannis believe me if I said I didn’t know, or would he accuse me of trying to cover up their survival so they could escape the city? Panic wells in my chest and I must sit on the bed’s thin mattress to keep from falling to my knees. Deep breaths in, deep breaths out, and I try not to think of the possibilities that would lead to my execution. Even Ser Davos with his kind eyes and fatherly gestures couldn’t, and maybe wouldn’t, stand between Stannis and me, if I were accused of treason. More treason, as I’m sure cohabitating with the Lannisters isn’t far from the crime in Stannis’s hardened eyes. 

Despite my racing thoughts, I drift to sleep sooner than I would have thought possible. It’s deep but restless; I dream of jarring colors and loud sounds and when a soft knock comes to the door I am jolted awake and sit straight up on the bed. Again, the lock turns slowly and Ser Davos looks sheepish when he sees me reclining. 

“My lady, I apologize. I didn’t think you would be sleeping.” 

“Please don’t apologize, Ser Davos.” I stand up and peek at what he has brought. A small tub of mostly clear water, a white rag, and the young man from earlier has three dresses draped carefully over his arms. His eyes dart around the room, as though he is a small animal trapped in a cage. I almost laugh at the thought, as I am the animal and they have set the cage. Something about him looks familiar, but before I can study him further Ser Davos is apologizing again. 

“I couldn’t get hot water, all the pipes around the dock have been shut off from the… from the explosions. I am sorry, my lady.” Neither man will make eye contact with me at themention of the weapons used against the city. Ser Davos places the tub of water on the table, careful not to spill any. The water laps up the sides of its container, further agitated by the swaying of the boat that I am just now noticing. 

“You can place the clothes and the rag on the bed, please,” I direct, and the ability to do so gives me the slightest bit of comfort. “When am I to be expected again? I would like to look presentable.” 

“King Stannis will see you in the morning, first thing. Her Grace, Queen Selyse, and Her Highness, Princess Shireen, will be brought first from the boat. One of us will return for you shortly after.” 

“I will be ready. Thank you.” With that, I dismiss them from the room and turn to evaluate what they have brought me. There’s a small basket with some bread and hard cheese, and a flask of wine, which I had not noticed when they first came in. The unnamed man must have had it under the dresses because the basket sits next to my clothes on the bed. I open the flask and gulp the wine, some of it dribbling from the corner of my mouth. My pained throat, aggravated more from my fretful sleep, suddenly feels quenched and I care not that I drank so sloppily. 

The rag is clean, but soon after I dip it into the cool water and start wiping down my face, neck, arms, and chest, it turns black from the soot and dust and brown from the blood dried onto my skin. When I take my lavender dress off, it almost crunches as it hits the ground from the dried dirt and blood. Shedding the dirt and the dress feels like stepping out of my old skin and having fresh, light, and soft skin to replace it. The slip I was wearing underneath is almost spotless, so it will do for the time to sleep in and wear under whatever they chose from my closet.

They’ve brought me three dresses, all as different from each other from the sun to the moon to the stars. I sigh and hope there’s something suitable to be officially presented to Stannis and his queen in the throne room, something that won’t further humiliate me. I spread the options out on the bed and am only slightly disappointed. There’s a white dress with short sleeves that goes to the knee, a black dress that is long in the arms and the skirt, and a pale pink too-small dress I haven’t worn in years. 

Thinking back to my earlier panic of what Stannis would do with a treasonous Stark, I want my dress to convey as much innocence as possible. The black dress, while demure, could seem villainous if my face is as gaunt as I believe it to be, but the white dress will show the bruises on my arm that look fearfully like Joffrey’s fingers and the cuts on my arm from scrambling over broken pieces of walls and windows. I sigh and know I should wear the white, scars and bruises and all.   
With a decision made, I collapse on my bed and am asleep almost before my head touches the pillow. I don’t awake until the rising sun shines into my window and warms my face the next morning.


	3. Reunion - Jon

I want to be the one to escort her from the boat to the throne room, but Stannis chooses Davos to present Lady Sansa to him and Queen Selyse. When the queen and the princess arrive, we all march into the abandoned throne room, which was cleaned by the Baratheon soldiers the night before. I shudder to think of the scene they encountered, blood and guts and all. Stannis is unimpressed by the tall columns and high windows with stained glass depicting the ancient stories, but I find myself enraptured by the grandeur of it all, the size of it all. When he ascends the towering throne for the first time and we all bow our heads, I glance up and realize how intimidating the ancient throne is in person. With all the stories of its menace and ugliness, I didn’t know what to expect. Stannis’s dark eyes peer down on all of us, and to me the throne made of swords is as terrifying as I imagined it to be as a child. 

There’s no other fanfare besides Stannis sitting for the first time in the seat, and it is relatively quiet in the room. I am motioned to stand just below him on the steps beneath the throne’s dais, as part of his closest security detail. Only he and Melisandre, his closest advisor, make noise as they discuss the next steps to secure his rule. 

Finally, the thick doors to the room open and Ser Davos walks briskly down the aisle towards Stannis and the queen. Sansa walks behind him, keeping his pace. Her long, red hair hangs loose down her back over a white dress. Her eyes luckily aren’t yet black from Joffrey hitting her, as she claimed, but the red gash above her eye clashes with the fire in her hair. I notice, too, the cuts on her legs that were covered by her long dress the day before. When Davos stops her at the steps in front of the throne, she looks around and takes a deep breath before settling her gaze on the throne. 

“King Stannis, may I present Lady Sansa Stark,” Davos’s voice echoes around the hall and all the men who before weren’t paying attention now stare at the scene playing out in front of them. Sansa curtsies low, eyes averted, and head bowed. She is as still as a statue despite the demanding pose and doesn’t move until Stannis almost rolls his eyes at the formality and motions her up with a jerk of his hand. “Lady Stark, your new queen, Queen Selyse.” She curtsies again, angling her body toward the haggard but happy-looking woman sitting in a chair positioned lower than the Iron Throne. 

“Lady Sansa, we hope you will find peace and comfort with us. We welcome you back into the realm as our guest, free from the treason committed while you were a prisoner of the Lannisters,” Queen Selyse announces to the room. 

“Thank you for welcoming me into your court,” Sansa’s voice is high and clear and strong. I’m surprised by how even it is before I remember that she was trained to be this gracious, no matter the situation. Even in a situation where she must genuflect to the position she was supposed to inherit until yesterday. 

With that, the presenting is over and Sansa is ushered to the side of the room by Davos. She stands patiently while the rest of the public business takes place, mostly the knighting of some soldiers who fought bravely and a debriefing to the commanders on how to proceed in the next few days. A successful military coup, we have been told by Stannis, will not be stable overnight. Until he has secured power, the commanders must continue to approach the situation as an active invasion. Dismissing the commanders, newly knighted men, and other soldiers, the throne room quiets down again to almost silence. 

“Lady Sansa, you are dismissed into Ser Davos’ charge,” Melisandre calls out. Her red hair is much darker than Sansa’s but is piled high into a bun. She still wears a red, fitted dress – her uniform – despite having played an active role during the battle. 

“Jon Snow,” Stannis interrupts suddenly. I turn to look up at him on the dais. “You will be Lady Stark’s security until I inform you otherwise.”

“But, Your Grace, I was contracted to protect you,” I protest. 

“You were contracted to serve me, Snow. And I am telling you now that you will be Lady Stark’s detail until we can find someone more permanent. Please escort her out of the throne room. Davos, you too.”

I descend the steps from the platform and join Sansa and Davos. Davos is updating her and tells her kindly, “We’ll be moving back into your apartments in the Red Keep, Lady Sansa. King Stannis informed me this morning that we have cleared the castle.” 

“I imagine being King Stannis’s prisoner will be more straightforward than a Lannister prisoner,” Sansa says drily. 

“You’re not a prisoner,” Ser Davos eyes crinkle up in confusion. She blinks at him and then says evenly, “Please thank the king for the use of my old rooms. It’s much appreciated.” 

“Of course, Lady Sansa. Jon, I think you can take her from here?” Davos gestures me up the stairs to the west tower before bowing to Sansa and going in the opposite direction. 

We walk together to her room, her head down most of the way. I wonder if she remembers me, I wonder if she dreads being placed back in the same room as before. We pass a few servants on our way, and for each one she has a smile and a kind word. They look at her gratefully, happy to have a moment of peace after the hell that has been the week. I watch her back, still perfectly straight, for the entire journey and she still has not truly acknowledged me since our reunion.

As we approach the solid, heavy dark door, however, she turns to me and says abruptly, “Jon Snow, how strange for us to meet this way after all these years.”

I don’t speak for a moment, caught in wondering when she figured out that she knew me. 

“Right,” I finally say a little breathlessly. “I know I have some facial hair, and I’ve bulked up a bit-“

“And your hair!” She exclaims, reaching out a hand but stopping just short of a loose curl above my eye. She pulls her hand back like she almost touched fire and then says quietly, “It used to be so long when we were kids.”

“It’s been really a long time.”

Awkwardly, we stand outside her door. “I’m not sure if you’re supposed to follow me in or…?” She trails off. 

“Yeah, I should check and make sure there’s nothing in hiding that could hurt you.”

She swings open the door to reveal a meager room. There’s a bed, a wardrobe, a vanity with a chair, and a window. A bare, dark wooden floor shows scratches and wear like it’s been there for centuries. 

“How long did you stay in this room?” 

“It’s been about two years now.” She’s quiet. 

“Would you like a different room? Or a suite, with a sitting room and kitchenette and separate bed and bath?”

Sansa considers me for a moment, a look of confusion flashes across her face. Then, it’s gone. “That would be very kind of you. Thank you, Jon. It’s comforting having a familiar face around here for once. But now, I would like some privacy. You can guard me sufficiently from outside the door, no?”

I nod, and then silently leave and close the door. 

Later, after dinner, I am summoned to Stannis’s small office that juts off the throne room. His large table with a map of Westeros engraved into the wooden the top has already been moved here from Dragonstone, amazingly fast. Stannis sits, fingers steepled in front of his lips as he considers the map with steely, emotionless eyes. Davos and Melisandre flank him, standing and observing the map as though they can see whatever Stannis is imagining play out over Westeros. 

“Jon Snow. I hope Lady Stark is settled well?” Davos asks eagerly when he finally notices me in the room. 

“Yes, only- her room is quite meager. It gives the impression of a prison, which…” 

“Which we obviously don’t want,” Melisandre’s off-putting dark voice chimes in. “She should appear as though she is a guest, a willing figure of this court.” 

I feel my eyebrows tighten my forehead. “Isn’t she?” 

Melisandre gives a dry bark of a laugh. “We haven’t offered her a one way ticket out of town, and if we were to, do you think she’d choose to stay here in King’s Landing, Jon Snow?” 

“I suppose not,” I mutter, the truth dawning on me like being hit in the stomach by a strong fist. I didn’t realize how much I had already wished for Sansa’s happiness, only knowing she was alive and well since yesterday afternoon. Drawing a deep breath, I reset my face into one of passive apathy. “If you want to give the impression of a typical lady at court, my recommendation would be to give her a better living space.” 

Davos and Melisandre nod in agreement, while Stannis watches me an extra beat. “Of course. The girl can take up in the North Tower once it’s ready to be lived in again.”

I’m dismissed not long after and sent back to the West Tower, where my chambers are for the time being. Close to Sansa, now that I am her personal security. I smile gently at the thought, pleased that I’ll finally be doing work I may look forward to for the first time since I joined the Night’s Watch five years ago. When I first joined, I was ordered to remain at the Wall – our headquarters – and assist in daily tasks while every other man was contracted out to various nobles and royalty and men of power in the East. Some were spies, others security; I was trained as security and protection, my best friend, Sam, a spy. We’ve worked hard, but unfortunately the Night’s Watch has changed over the past decade or so, corrupted by weak-willed, power-hungry men, which is how I found myself serving a would-be king rather than working independently alongside a pre-existing security detail. Regardless, I was here now, and finally reunited with a long-lost person from my past. 

Sansa’s aunt, Lyanna, had raised me as a child after my parents died. She took me to Winterfell to play with the Stark children as much as possible, knowing I needed to play with other kids my age rather than sulk around the house she tried her best to keep. I was closest with Robb, but always enjoyed spending time with all the Stark children. At one point, I had imagined marrying Sansa, which was a child’s hope. After Lyanna died, I didn’t see much of the family as I was enrolled in boarding school on Bear Island. As soon as I was old enough, I joined the Night’s Watch and now I’m in the sunny, warm King’s Landing serving a Stark daughter. 

As I ready myself for bed, I can’t help but to think of how Sansa has changed. As a preteen, she was bubbly and graceful, always smiling. She had a mean streak sometimes, especially towards Arya, but was perfectly courteous to everyone else. If I think back to the time she and Arya hid Robb’s favorite football in the family crypts – the one place Robb was afraid of – and how they howled in laughter at his desperate search for the ball. The woman today was reserved, cautious, but still graceful. A hardness in her face makes me think she’s lost the softness and bubbliness of childhood, and for good reason. What hell has she seen in this very castle, a place in which she’s now forced to remain? When I start to drift off, I imagine her one day sharing with me what’s happened to her, and I imagine her one day smiling and as relaxed as she deserves to be.


	4. Damage-Sansa

I’m surprised that it only takes three days for me to be granted a new living space; perhaps Jon has more sway with Stannis than I previously gave him credit. I’m given a four-room suite on the north side of the castle, facing the untouched parts of King’s Landing. The rooms are bright, with gray-blue walls and light wooden floors, decorated with modern furniture that is white with dark wooden accents. There’s a couch, a radio, bookshelves, a bathroom, a kitchenette – basically what Jon had promised that first day back in the castle, all but four days before. There’s a connecting suite that mirrors the layout to my own, and with a blush Jon tells me that’s where he’s to reside since he’s been appointed as my personal security. 

Walking around both suites, I marvel at their delicate beauty compared to my bare, but warm and bright, rooms before. “Why would anyone need two connecting suites like this? Normally, I mean,” I give him a small smile. 

Jon blushes deep red again. “I imagine it was for the king and his… mistress.” 

I bite back a laugh, not wanting him to think it’s a tease at his obvious discomfort. Jon had always been shier than me and my siblings, it must not have grown out of him. 

So much has changed in the whirlwind of days since Stannis’s victory. I am still a prisoner, there’s no doubt about that. But I am a more welcome prisoner than I was with the Lannisters. Queen Selyse invites me to dinner, Ser Davos takes me for walks around the keep’s grounds, even in the godswood. Princess Shireen wants to spend as much time with me as possible, and her father only grimaces slightly when I am in his presence. 

And Jon’s companionship turns into a daily comfort; he is almost constantly by my side from when I wake up to when I go to sleep. It sounds like it should be suffocating, but I find myself drinking up everything he says and does as a way to quench the thirst of loneliness I have had the past five years. 

“Another afternoon, another tedious two hours listening to Stannis resolve the most minor of gripes,” Jon grumbles one day as we walk to the Throne Room to watch the afternoon’s court. 

“Sometimes it’s nice having predictability,” I quietly tell him. The monotony of the days gives me a sense of security, and instead of being bored I find myself looking forward to the routines of my life now. Jon regards me curiously but only gives a small nod instead of a snide retort. His calmness is also a salve to my frayed nerves destroyed by years of Joffrey and Cersei’s games. 

We watch Stannis conduct business from our seats on the side of the room, facing the long walkway up to the Iron Throne. Our new king carries on debates with his lords, gives announcements regarding the kingdom, and resolves issues smallfolk bring to him. It’s mostly help with repairing buildings and roads in their neighborhoods, asking when they can expect fresh food and water again. 

I have full hours free for whatever I want to do- read, walk, sleep – I only am not allowed to leave the castle. It’s “for my safety,” but I know it’s because I’m still a prisoner. I almost care, but the relief of the end of war has made the reality fuzzy and it is something I do not intend to explore for some time. 

Jon must know about the unspoken rule of my limited movements, but he’s tactful enough to not talk about anything that may relate to my time in King’s Landing or my future here. He does, one day, ask me a favor. 

“Lady Sansa… will you show me around the Red Keep? Just a brief tour.” He seems so nervous, so formal, so genuinely nice I cannot tell him no. 

We start after the afternoon’s court session, walking from the Throne Room to the Small Hall and the Small Council Room. Finally having access to my full wardrobe, I’m in a long-sleeved, long-skirted navy blue dress that will hide all my bruises and cuts from the bombardment. Most of the other nobility present in the castle either just returned from fleeing the city a year or so before, or came with Stannis after he conquered King’s Landing. I believe I am the only one who withstood the city’s assault, and I have the marks to prove it.

“It’s all so… so extravagant,” Jon says in awe after a few minutes, looking at the stained glass in the Small Council Room’s windows. 

“It is the seat of our King,” I can hear the tease in my voice as he huffs in fake embarrassment. He continues to comment on little and grand details as we walk to the Tower of the Hand and the small sept next to it. The day is pleasant – a slight breeze that offers a small respite from the warm sun beating down on the red rocks of the castle. I can hear birds and as we climb up to the barracks we have a clear view of the entire city of King’s Landing. 

It’s as though a line were drawn evenly down the middle that separates a blossoming city from utter destruction. Houses still smoke from the bombs dropped days ago, most of the south side of the city is just rubble, piled up bricks and wooden beams. 

“It’s just so terrible to look at,” Jon’s voice aches. 

“I never could imagine the city being leveled like this. With all the battles and instability and chaos happening in Westeros, it never seemed tangible until… until you arrived,” I’m too wary of kings to speak directly about our new one. 

“I never could imagine what war really was like, despite all our playing at it as kids and yearning for it as recruits.” He quiets for a minute and I wish I could ask him what he’s thinking, but the words dry up on my tongue. Then he turns and faces the north part of the city. “We should be appreciating what’s been saved. When was the last time you were out of this castle?”

Turning so I can see his same view of the still-intact part of the city, I hesitate to answer. “It’s awful, but I think two years.”

Jon turns to face me, shock written on his face. His dark eyes flash with anger for a moment, then he runs a hand through his short, dark curls and seems to make a decision. “I’ll sneak you out one day soon. Just for an hour or two, to walk the streets and see something other than red walls.” 

I can’t help the smile that spreads on my face. “If you can manage that, it would be wonderful.”

We continue walking the ramparts, not really thinking about the direction we’re going in. Too late, I realize we’ve ventured onto the Traitor’s Walk. I stop in my tracks on the small wooden bridge that connects two towers that flank one entry into the keep. Jon stands next to me, looking confused as I try to maintain control over myself. I’m immediately brought back to the day my father was executed. Shot by a firing squad, in front of the royal family and half the city. And me. That day haunts me every night, but this exact location I was lucky enough to forget about until today. The day after my father was murdered, Joffrey gleefully brought me to this exact place to show me my father’s hacked off head adorning a spike over the walkway. 

“It’s just so medieval,” I can hear him as though he was still alive, standing a foot ahead of me, a grin eating his face as I tried not to vomit. Even though I know Jon stands next to me and five years separate me from Joffrey’s sneer at my father’s rotting head, I still cannot help but to see Joffrey as though he were in the flesh, and his guardsman, who they called the Hound. Closing my eyes to these visions, I can’t keep the smell from that day accosting my nostrils. Rotting flesh and blood, despite the pleasant day with a cool breeze, all I can smell is rotting flesh and blood. 

“Look at him, Sansa! Look at him!” Joffrey’s voice screams in my ears and I’m putting my hands over my head to block him out but I can’t, I can’t, and I can’t do anything else but endure because if I do anything else, Joffrey will just push me off the bridge he told me he would do that if he could. 

“Sansa! Look! Sansa!” 

Suddenly, a pain in my upper arm brings me back to reality. Jon’s face looms in front of mine, his hand gently grasping the soft spot above my elbow, still tender from bruises left by Joffrey days ago. He’s calling my name and I can only manage to watch his lips move as he continuously says my name and focus on the pain in my arm, grounding me in the moment. Finally, the moment breaks and I start to sob at the memories and the terror of thinking that it was all so real again. 

“Sansa, are you okay?” Jon won’t let me go, his other arm coming around to pull me into a hug and I can only rest my head on his shoulder, feeling the texture of his shirt against my cheek. The weight of his arms, the touch of his clothes against mine, him murmuring my name over and over in my ear, all of these things bring me back into the moment until I stop shaking and breathe normally. 

“That… happens from time to time,” I try to explain as I pull away from him slowly. 

Jon nods. “I’ve seen something like it before, with some of my friends who worked in the field… let’s get you back and rested so you can feel like yourself again.” I let him lead me back to the North Tower like a child, resisting a dark urge to laugh at his insistence that this is not who I am now. Regardless, I welcome his strong hand at the small of my back, guiding me and making me feel protected. 

I try to brush off the events from the day before, and Jon lets me without pushing me for more details. It must be his training at the Nights Watch, I tell myself when he just gives me a sad smile and a nod the next day when I apologize. But I know he must imagine me insane based on what he saw. 

We continue our routine for weeks, only who I eat dinner with or go for a walk with changing. Princess Shireen loves talking to me about stories from long, long ago, with knights and princesses and dragons. She’s so unlike my siblings and Tommen and Myrcella, her innocence and childishness only gives me slight pangs of pain when I spend time with her. After my experience on the Traitor’s Walk, I refuse to indulge any thoughts of what happened to the Lannister children and what’s happened to my family to prevent another meltdown. 

All my efforts go to waste, however, one day while Stannis holds court. Jon and I sit in our normal seats while Stannis and his commanders begin a heated discussion about the North and its steadfast rebels and what to do with them. My body freezes and I hold my breath as I try to hear every word being whispered at the dais above where we are sitting. Jon lightly taps my hands, curled into tight fists and causing my nails to dig deeply into my skin. Stannis, ever observant, sees the interaction and quickly cuts off the discussion, saying more loudly that it’s something to be discussed in the war room, not during court. 

When we are dismissed, I practically run from the room with Jon just behind me. My throat feels like it’s choking off, my sight becomes black dots, and my stomach turns. Moving quickly out of the way of the main doors, I can’t fight the tears that spill over my eyes.

“Sansa,” Jon murmurs from next to me. Another gentle touch to my wrist that feels too soft for what I deserve. 

“I be-betrayed them,” I finally whisper, looking at my feet. “I couldn’t save father… I didn’t fight the Lannisters… I became a lapdog, not a direwolf.” I’m dangerously close to sobbing in the open, and Jon gently guides me into an alcove to give me privacy in my moment of weakness. He’s shushing me and biting his lip, unsure of what to do with a crying woman, of course. “Let’s… let’s just go back to my rooms. Please.” 

We walk in silence to my suite, him looking at me anxiously, me trying to avoid his glances as much as possible. He surveys the room before I can fully enter, making sure no one is there in the shadows to attack me. I almost laugh at the thought, knowing full well all my demons are now internal. 

As I sit on my couch, he turns the radio on to some gentle piano music. It’s immediately somehow calming and he sits in the arm chair perpendicular to my seat. Feeling so small, I focus on breathing in and out and finally can look him in the eyes after many minutes of silence save the music. 

“I’m so sorry Jon, for my outburst. Hearing about my home, while I’m stuck here… it’s sometimes just too much.” 

He gives me a sympathetic look. “You really have no reason to apologize. I have the same guilt too, you know. I should have helped with your father.”

“I still betrayed them after father died though. I never tried to escape, never figured out a way to help them before they all were killed.” 

“What?” Jon looks at me incredulously, the sympathy gone. 

“What do you mean, what?” I throw back at him, anger flaring through me at his reaction. “They’re dead. I’m not. I could have done something to change that.” 

“Sansa… your family isn’t dead. They’re all in hiding in the North.” 

His words barely register in my mind, because there’s no way that they’re true. Besides me not understanding how he would even know their fates, Cersei showed me a telegram with the message that my mother, brothers, and sister were all killed by a firing squad two years ago. She practically gloated as she handed me the small piece of paper that described my family’s death in the barest of terms. 

“You’re wrong.” 

“No, I’m not Sansa. I’ve seen the reports. I’ve wanted to go visit them but haven’t really been able to get away to do it. They’re living covertly, under the radar. The firing squad was a ruse to make the Lannisters think they were murdered.” 

“I don’t believe you.”

“You should. Because it’s true.” 

“Do you have any photos of them?” Red hot anger now completely engulfs me. “Do you have a letter? Can they call me, write me? Can I write them? Prove it to me, or never bring this up again, Jon Snow.”

I can tell I’ve wounded him and in the moment I truly do not care. My family’s deaths have haunted me for years now, coming in dreams to torment me and call me weak, a traitor, a coward. Even if I wasn’t there, I can see the horror of their last minutes, mingling with my memories of my father’s death. Jon’s empty words cannot prove anything and any goodwill is hollow falseness. 

He looks desperate to try to convince me otherwise, but before he can continue arguing with me I dismiss him from my room and he leaves me alone to my misery and tears.


End file.
